You Know Me Well(23)

Eventually he gets some into the cups. As he does, I tell Katie, “I’m excited to be here. This is a big moment, right? Your first gallery showing.”

“This is happening, isn’t it?”

“Yup. It’s happening.”

Brad hands over the cups. “I’d like to make a toast!” he says. “Even though there are no true beginnings in life—there’s always something that came before—there are definitely moments that feel like a beginning, and it’s always good to stop and take a second to enjoy them. Your talent started long before you walked in that door, Katie, but here’s to the start of a different, wider recognition of that talent. To Audra!”

“To Audra!” Katie echoes, while I say, “To Katie!” Then we clink our plastic cups and sip the warm cider of our celebration.

Katie looks like the kind of happy that doesn’t believe itself. And I’m a more straightforward happy to see it.

We’re so caught in the moment that we don’t hear the door open. We don’t sense anyone else in the gallery. It’s only when she says, “Excuse me? Are you open?” that we turn to look.

I see a pretty girl with a sequined scarf looking somewhat confused.

Katie, however, sees something else.

“Violet?” she says, her fingers clutching the plastic cup so tight that it cracks.

“Kate? Is that really you?”

And Katie says, “Yes—I guess it’s really me.”





8

Kate

She’s smiling her amazing smile, right here, right in front of me, not in a photograph, not on a screen, but here. In life.

And I am frozen, lukewarm cider dripping down my arm from my cracked cup, Brad saying, “Here, let me clean you up,” and then, in Mark’s direction, “I’ve never said that to a girl—ha!”

“What are you doing here?” Violet asks. But before I can answer she shakes her head and says, “I take that back. I only asked because I’m nervous. You’re here because of your show. And I’m here because of your show. I saw your Instagram post, and I live not too far from here, and I wanted to see your paintings up close, without all the other people.”

“How perfect,” Brad says, dabbing my elbow with a paper napkin. “Are you a collector? So sneaky. So smart to just pop in the day before the opening. Bad girl! And by that I mean good girl. Feel free to take a look around. Kate’s work is clearly fierce, but if it isn’t quite what you’re after I’d understand. I mean it’s, you know, wow, but let’s say it’s not your cup of tea? If that’s the case I’d be thrilled to introduce you to some of our other artists’ work.”

“I’m here to see Kate’s work.”

He stops dabbing and sets the napkin next to my tightrope painting. Practically on my tightrope painting.

“Of course,” he says. “And here it is.”

His gesture toward the table may as well be the unveiling of my heart. The stripping off of my clothes.

I might as well be singing her a love song.

She walks toward them and I feel myself step backwards, away from the sight of her looking at my paintings. They are not fierce. They are not wow. They are crude representations of the possibility of love, and they were meant to remain secret. I didn’t know it before, but I know it now. I mean constellations? How trite. I don’t even know their names. I’m always confusing Cassiopeia with Perseus and they really look nothing alike.

My stomach drops. My hands tremble. I don’t know how I got into the UCLA art program. I don’t know how Violet—or anyone else—will find these paintings anything but amateurish.

“Open your eyes,” Mark hisses. “You are acting really weird.”

I didn’t even realize they were closed, but now I’m seeing pink again, and when I brave a glance at Violet I think I may see her smiling, but I’m not sure because the door chimes and a woman swishes in.

“Audra, you’re back!” Brad croons. “Look who showed up? It’s Kate Cleary!”

Audra’s hair is styled in a severe ponytail. Her eyeliner is catlike and everything she’s wearing is covered in fringe. She faces me, stoic.

“Look, Kate, didn’t I tell you she’d be thrilled? Here are the paintings, and they are even better in person!”

Violet steps aside to let Audra take her place before the table, where she studies them one by one and then gives a single nod before pulling her phone from her pocket.

“I knew you would just adore them!”

“The show’s tomorrow night,” Audra says. “What are you thinking about price?”

She’s looking at her phone, but when no one else answers I assume this question is meant for me.

“Oh,” I say. “I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“Please tell me they’re for sale. I can’t waste my time with artwork that isn’t for commerce.”

“No, that’s fine,” I say. “We can sell them. I just don’t know how much I should charge.”

Brad says, “Well, each of the Lin Chin crane boxes is three thousand, but—”

Audra snorts.

“Precisely,” he continues. “And Nic’s are eight hundred a drawing, though we agree they should all be sold to the same buyer. Breaking up that sequence would be worse than breaking up that couple! Anyone who disagrees is a homewrecker. Tabitha’s Word-That-Rhymes-With-Shunt pieces are each a grand, a steal considering that they’re high-concept and made of LED lights. Form meets function and all that. But Kate’s not exactly in Tabitha’s league.”